#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

. . . She has planted sweet alyssum

in the holes where the wood was rotten.

It grows thick, it bulges

like flowers contending from a tight vase.

Now the stump sinks downward into its roots

with a cargo of rain

and white blossoms that last into October.

~ Excerpt from “The Stump,” by Donald Hall

Windows wide to sweet cool summer morning after heat wave. Days of freshness in the air. River still high, paths still puddled. Charlie and I take a long walk. I am sore from the gardening and my feet are blistered from a romp in rain boots without socks. But I listen to a memoir I’ve had in my audible library for a long time, a short memoir by the poet Lucille Clifton, Generations. It’s only an hour long, but a fascinating and beautifully written one. Then I have my Ukraine group, and a client, and on to an afternoon of working on my craft article draft. A swim at Farm Pond, fresh and cool but sunny, and back to my article. In the early evening I hit save. I am satisfied that I have a strong essay. I think I’m ready to send it off tomorrow. Play time with Wave before bed, a cheerful romp after he plays in the yard with his mother after dark––summer bliss under the full moon––and has a late snack of pasta and steamed broccoli!